Aesopian
by TheLaughingCat
Summary: When the people of Nottignham form a conspiracy against the Sheriff in the name of Robin Hood, things become a little more complicated than "rob from the rich, give to the poor". Robin&Marian, Will&Djaq, Allan&OC, Much&Eve. Every character, plus more.
1. The Blame Game

**Chapter One – The Blame Game**

_ This is Marian's fault._

He hadn't meant to think it; it had just snuck into his mind, like an unwanted change in the weather when you had taken everyone out for a ride through the forest. You got blamed, even though you couldn't have known what God had forecasted for that day. A man couldn't control what thoughts popped into his head at what moments, now could he?

The accusation was accompanied by a surge of unexpected resentment for the individual being blamed, and that was followed by a small bit of guilt, which Allan quickly cast away. A man couldn't decide which emotions to feel at which times could he; especially when that man was currently sitting on a cold cell floor, awaiting certain death.

_ This is Marian's fault._

Part of the incrimination was true, Allan thought. The woman was so foolish at times. She claimed to be the rational one, but she pulled some pretty Robin-ish moves when she believed strongly in something. The couple didn't seem to notice how similar they were.

That morning he had been walking through the courtyard, going about his usual chores, mindin' his own business, when she had come runnin' up to him going on about some stupid hanging that she thought was unjust. He'd told her to get on back inside the castle, 'cause she thought every bally hanging wasn't right anyway, but she'd ignored him, of course. The day Marian Fitzwater decided to actually listen to something someone told her was the day Much shut up the first time you asked him, or Robin stopped robbing the wealthy. It was just who she was to disobey instructions.

Allan hadn't minded when she'd grumbled that selfish men with a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs were despicably cold-hearted and uncaring, and that if no one would help her, she would do something about the crime taking place on her own. He'd been tempted to ask her whether she'd spoken to good old Robin Hood, the hero of the needy, yet, however he'd figured that wasn't the best idea, as it would just start her grousing again. He didn't have time to here Marian out today; Giz would kill him if he was late peparin' the horses.

That was why, he supposed, he'd let her storm off angrily with that look in her eyes that indicated she was going to do something dumb and rash, before he had thoroughly thought over her comment about 'doing something about the crime herself'. That could only mean bad news for her, or Robin, or even himself.

_ Allan, you're an idiot, mate. How long '__ave__ you known these people an' __their__ . . . tendencies, but you let one of '__em__ run off to put '__er__ life in danger without a thought. An' not just '__er__ life, but yours too, since you know you have to be the one to get the gang plus Marian out of what they got themselves into with the Sheriff and Gisborne, _Allan thought bitterly to himself. He didn't receive enough credit for bailing the boys out of trouble left and right. Sure, he'd made a mistake; but weren't they being a bit childish, holding out a grudge for so long? It's not like he'd revealed any of their important secrets to Gisborne, he just told him little tidbits of information to make it seem real. Was it such a bad thing to be working as a double agent, on the inside?

"Yea, if the reason you're there is 'cause you betrayed your friends, your only allies, the five people who appreciated you," he sighed to himself. He really needed to stop replying to his own questions; he'd been doing it far too often lately.

He had only betrayed them when he was being tortured, anyway. He couldn't have helped it, could he? People didn't think straight when they were suffering at the point of a searing hot iron rod. Nor did they think straight when the idea of a noose tied around their neck and drawn tight, because of someone else's mistake, entered their imagination.

Even after it had occurred to him that Marian was going to try and stop the hanging, Allan continued to go about his routine as if nothing in the world was out of place. In his opinion, the fate of the victims of the Sheriff's boredom and need to cause murder were none of his business. One person couldn't worry about the whole damn world. A single individual couldn't save everyone. The best thing to do was to sort out your own sorry life, and then try and lighten other people's if you had the money, status, and time. Allan had none of these components, so he was perfectly content leaving the poor beggars out on the streets, and letting the Sheriff go about his own strange business.

Of course, Marian wasn't like Allan. Not the slightest bit. While Allan turned away from pain and truth, Marian couldn't get over it. Allan assumed that this was because she couldn't handle what she saw; she was just a young noblewoman, grappling with the death and terror she witnessed on a daily bases, now that her father had been replaced by Vaisey. She was probably kept awake at night by visions she couldn't control of hangings and starving peasants flashing before her eyes. Allan, on the other hand, liked to think that he was more mature and experienced. He knew how cruel the world could be first hand, and he had learned to move on, to never look back. Never regret. Never regret turning a hungry, cold child away when you needed your own food. Never regret lying for your own benefit. Never regret stealing so you could survive. No, Allan couldn't regret. Regret and guilt were a rogue and a trickster's downfall. Allan-a-dale had to pretend that on some level everything he did was acceptable.

It was because Marian was different from Allan that when the hanging rolled around, she did not sit beside Guy like was custom. Allan was dismayed to find that Lady Fitzwater was absent from the festivities due to being taken by a "sudden illness". The thief nearly cursed when he heard this excuse for running off to become the "Nightwatchman". Robin was going to kill this time when something happened to his _beloved_.

_ Gisborne is really oblivious, ain't he, _Allan groaned inwardly. If almighty Guy of Giborne could just put two and two together, and see what was as plain as the nose on his face, this wouldn't be happening.

The former outlaw began to brainstorm ways of stopping Marian from carrying out her plan. He didn't know why he was even bothering, why should he help her? Help Marian, and you were helping Robin. Allan was tired of righteous Robin Hood, the man that fancied himself the epiphany of justice and just about everything else good. However, for some reason his brain was continuing to calculate strategies of locating the Nightwatchman in time.

One thing was for sure: if he left sight of the Sheriff before Marian jumped out of hiding to rescue the men scheduled for hanging, and somehow managed to escape in time, he would be a suspect later on. But, that was just a risk he was going to have to take in order to stop her from getting herself landed in the dungeon.

"Wha' d'ya think o' me now, Robin? Sacrificin' my own reputation an' safety for your girl?" he muttered to himself. He was unable to keep a slight smile off of his face though as he slipped away from the crowd; he missed saving the day like he used to.

Five minutes after he'd gone to look for her, Allan had located Marian. She was slinking around the castle walls, donning the full costume. He had to give her credit for detecting his presence the moment he had seen her. She walked over to him, and although he couldn't see her eyes or expression properly with the mask and leather covering her face, he could tell she was infuriated that he had come to interfere with her little mission. When Marian was frustrated or mad, she carried a certain air. The anger seemed to radiate off of her and intimidate everyone who ventured to speak to her.

"Not bein' funny or nothin', but d'you have a death wish?" Allan asked her sarcastically. She quickly pulled down the flap of fabric that shielded her mouth and nose, and then removed the mask. Her blue eyes were narrowed slits.

"I couldn't exactly wait for you or Robin to help me could I?" she hissed. "You were too busy tacking up Guy's horse, because for some unapparent reason he is incapable of doing so himself!" she hissed, her voice rising with every word. She threw her gloved hand up into the air in exasperation.

"Look, Marian, you're gonna get caught. This is stupid, irrational. I don't know why you're doing it; normally you're a little saner. Guy will catch you, and something tells me 'e ain't gonna be too forgiving when he finds out who the Nightwatchman really is. Not to mention our good mate the Sheriff. Come on, go take that stuff off."

Marian looked as if she was about to argue, when suddenly the sound of steadily approaching footsteps froze them both in their tracks.

"Shit," Allan cursed. He searched around the area for a good hiding place, and his eyes rested upon a small well in the corner. Marian followed his gaze, and then shook her head.

"It's only got space for one of us," she murmured.

"I know," Allan replied, meeting her eyes. He offered her a smile that said: hey, the world hates me anyway, why not? Both of them knew that he would never get away in time.

"Are you sure?" Marian whispered.

"Just hurry up before we're both caught," he urged her on. She nodded in gratitude and acknowledgement before bolting off and ducking down inside of the stone well. Allan watched resignedly as her head disappeared. He didn't quite know why he was doing this. Oh well . . .

As the man waited for whoever it was that was coming, he happened to look down at his feet. With dismay, he realized that Marian had dropped her mask, and it was lying on the stones next to his boot. He rushed to pick it up, and was about to go and drop it into the well quickly, when a tall, lanky figure burst into the courtyard, panting, his eyes fixed upon an invisible target. _Will._

Allan's heart, which had been beating out of his chest in anxious anticipation, settled slightly. It was not until he realized that the outlaw was running _from_ someone that it increased its pounding again. Who could be chasing Will at the castle, that wouldn't mean bad news for Allan? No one, unfortunately.

As Gisborne entered the scene on Scarlet's heels, Allan just squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to God that, thanks to Will's distraction, he would be able to evade trouble. His prayers were not answered, but he couldn't blame God. After all, Allan would turn his back on a child that had betrayed everyone, a child who sinned as he breathed.

"GET him, Gisborne!" the Sheriff roared. The short man desperately tried to keep up with the other two people, but gave up when his lazy heart and his lungs refused to bother. He paid no bother to Allan until Gisborne returned from his chase with his head bent down in shame and defeat. It was obvious he had failed to catch the runaway. The sheriff looked like he was about to rip his deputy's head off.

"Why do you FAIL, Gisborne? WHY!" he bellowed, and as he whipped around furiously, Allan's presence finally registered in both sheriff and deputy's minds.

"What are you doing here?" Guy snapped. Allan noticed how weary his eyes looked, as if he was tired of life. All of the sparks had left them. He hadn't even been lighting up when Marian made an appearance, lately.

"Oh, y' know, jus' making my way to the show," Allan shrugged casually. To his displeasure, Guy's gaze fell upon the mask that he held loosely in his sweaty hand, and a betrayed expression crossed his face. He stepped back in shock.

"What is that?" snarled the Sheriff. He snatched the piece from Allan and inspected it more carefully. Slowly, his cheeks flushed red with anger. "Gisborne, your _dog_ is the Nightwatchman!"

"No, no no! You got it wrong! I ain't the Nightwatchman! I found this mask on the ground jus' now, right? It's not mine." Allan put in quickly. He directed his focus to Guy, who he knew would be more likely to believe them. The larger man said nothing, and Allan almost wished that Guy yelled in his face harshly rather than this absence of a response. The Sheriff, of course, was not so silent.

"That man, probably one of Hood's gang, had to have had some assistance in _freeing my prisoners_. Figures that it'd be the Nightwatchman. It fits perfectly. You were part of Hood's gang, and the Nightwatchman is clearly in alliance with Hood."

"Don't be so stupid!"

"You, will shut your filthy traitor mouth!" he barked at Allan. "And you," these words were directed at Guy, "will escort this traitor to the dungeons, where he will await his death at dawn tomorrow."

Guy grabbed Allan by the arm and yanked him towards the castle. As they ascended the staircase to the dungeon, the latter attempted to reason with the former.

"Look, the Sheriff was angry, he wasn't thinking straight. I mean, me, the Nightwatchman? No way, Guy! I'm your man."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Gisborne shouted. His original shock at Allan's supposed identity had faded and turned to bubbling rage. Allan wisely chose to heed the other man's words for once. He grunted as he was thrust behind bars, and watched gloomily as the key turned in the lock, sealing Allan in with his fate.

That was basically, in short, the explanation of how Allan-a-dale had come to find himself in a dingy cell, accused of something that he hadn't even done. Not that that mattered, since he had committed enough crimes anyway for a lifetime in prison. And, though he felt a tinge of shame for betraying Robin, and then Guy, and even himself, he was able to sit there and not feel too low for anything he had done. No regret. He simply waited for the morning to come, convinced that it was all Marian's fault, and not his.

Author's Note: This is my first fic for Robin Hood, and pretty much my first story for this site. I appreciate reviews, and by all means give your honest opinion. Also, I promise the next few chapters will be much more interesting, and different from this one.


	2. Nightmare

**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I really wasn't expecting any. Anyway, this chapter introduces a few of my own characters that will be leads in the story. Enjoy!

**Chapter Two – Nightmare**

_A flash of silver and then crimson. Heavy coughing, the rattle of the last breath of life. Tears, streaming down their cheeks like rain coursing down the leaves of the trees. __Cries of fear. Desperate pleading, hard stones digging into her knees. A quiet, timid voice. A hand searching around in the darkness._

Cassandra Bennet shot out of bed with violent force. Her body was shaking uncontrollably, and beads of sweat collected on her brow. A terrified scream still lingered on her parched lips.

The woman remained in that position for some time, allowing her mind to skim through the visions that had plagued her all night. They were always the same; scatterings of the past, with the rare oddity of a scene that resembled nothing she had ever seen before.

She always remembered the nightmares, unfortunately. They stayed with her throughout the day, making it nearly impossible to forget the past, so that every hour was a bad dream. The worst part was the impact this had on her two children, however. Her moods affected their own, and when she struggled to make it through the day, they believed that they should do something to help her. Only, it was impossible to help her when she was in this state, and they ended up feeling just as miserable as she did. Deep down she knew that they didn't think it was their fault, but when she drifted through life like a ghost, half of her dwelling in a memory, it was hard for them not to blame themselves.

Drawing a deep, long breath, Cassandra shifted the worn blanket off of her and swung her legs over the side of the cot. Her feet wobbled slightly as they touched the cold wooden floor planks. She stumbled over to the water pail she kept in the corner of the room and splashed some of the liquid up onto her face, wiping the perspiration away.

She stared down at her reflection woefully. Years ago, she would not have recognized this pale, fragile looking face; this stranger with a forlorn look in her deep brown eyes. Her dirty blonde hair fell down in clumps onto her shoulders. It no longer lit up in the sunlight like it used to. Faint wrinkles creased her skin, and there were bags under her eyes due to lack of sleep. Anyone who looked upon her would think that she was ill; and who was to say she wasn't. Loss of appetite, inability to sleep, and chronic headaches sounded like sickness to her. Hopefully her nightmares would have no other affects upon her, so that she could string together the pieces of her mind for the boys.

Waiting for her in the front of the small shop were her two sons, Ivan and Wolfe, and the owner of the shop, Cassandra's uncle, Bernard Felius. The man sat in the corner, leaning back on the hind legs of his old arm chair, the one possession that he couldn't live without. Ivan always said that once Great Uncle Bern plopped down in that chair, only breakfast would be able to get him up. This was almost true. Once Cassandra had come to aid him with the shop, Bernard sat more than he stood.

"Mummy, you're awake!" Ivan beamed, exposing the large gap between his right front tooth and the one two spaces down from it. Ivan was a rambunctious five year old who couldn't tell when was the right time to hush and keep out of trouble. He bounced over to his mother energetically, his behavior quite the opposite of how she felt at the moment. He wrapped his thin arms around her waist, pressing his cheek to the fabric of her simple grey dress. Cassandra ruffled his mousy brown hair affectionately, smiling slightly. She loved her boys, they were the only things she had left, and she feared the day that one of them died or was taken away from her.

"Wolfe tolds me not to wake you up, so I didn't," the little boy glared accusatorially at his older brother, before continuing. "But, real early, Robin Hood came and gaves us a loaf of bread and coins! He winked at me mummy!" Ivan straightened proudly and grinned up at his mother. "He said I was a clever lad whens I told him that if Gisborne wanted to take something of ours for the Sheriff's stupid taxes, I'd punch him so hards that he'd run away!"

"That's great Ivan," Cassandra praised him, her voice a little distant, but her gaze focused on her son. She needed to supply him the attention he required, no matter how much her brain tried to flicker back to the dreams.

"You know you'd better not stand up to Gisborne though, unless you want to end up like Ugly Jim," Wolfe warned. His voice was naturally quiet, so that it usually sounded like he was whispering when he spoke. He was eleven, though he appeared and behaved much older, and never failed to state the practical, if not obvious, side of everything.

Poor Ivan's gleeful expression faltered as he visibly wilted at the mention of the now deceased butcher. Cassandra cast Wolfe a disappointed look before turning back sadly to Ivan, who had shuffled dejectedly over to Bernard and sat down next to his wooden chair with his head in his hands. In a way the mother was glad that Wolfe discouraged his sibling, so that she didn't have to do it herself. As much as she wished that he could hold onto his dreams of being a hero and stopping the men that had ruined their family's chance of a peaceful existence, she knew he had to understand that this was impossible, for his own safety.

"Robin Hood stands up to him," Ivan muttered.

"Robin Hood is an arrogant fool who pretends that he cares about us so that he looks good for the King. He has nothing to worry about; when the King returns he'll be given a nice house and a glorious title. He has no dedication to us, the cause he supposedly believes in, but when it comes to the King Richard, he has all the dedication and loyalty in the world," Wolfe spat, his words coated with contempt. When it came to Robin Hood, Wolfe always had the same adamantine opinion.

Ivan's lip began to quiver, and then his face crumpled and he covered his eyes with his palms, ashamed, trying to hide his tears from his bother, the person who had just stamped on his role-model, his source of hope. The pain of this, plus the mention of Jim's death, and all of the tragedies piling up around him escaped from under his hands with every tear he shed. Robin and his gang were like a candle that managed to burn with a light that promised all was not hopeless yet, despite all of the darkness that enveloped it, and that candle had just come dangerously close to being snuffed out in Ivan's eyes.

Wolfe bit his lip, instantly regretting his words as Ivan started to cry, and crouched down next to his brother, curling an arm around the skinny child.

"Look, sorry, Ive," he murmured, gently removing Ivan's hands from his eyes and giving him a squeeze for support. "I didn't mean it, okay? Robin Hood does help us a lot." Cassandra smiled down at her son, proud of Wolfe for being so strong and comforting his brother when she couldn't. Cassandra wasn't able to take care of Ivan as well as she should have, so Wolfe was left to do the job. The two boys had formed an unbreakable bond that helped them pull through every passing day's hardships.

When Ivan had sniffled up the last of his tears, and the boys were sitting happily again, Bernard offered Cassandra some of Robin's loaf of bread they had saved for her. She gingerly took a bite; when provisions became so scarce that you went days without eating, it seemed more appropriate to save every bit of food you got rather than actually eat it. As soon as the bread touched her tongue, however, her mouth began to water greedily, and she devoured the rations ferociously. With food now in her stomach, she felt like she had actually woken up, and thanked Bernard graciously.

"Now that you've eaten, I've somethin' to tell you," her uncle said, gesturing towards the bedroom. "In private, if the boys don't mind."

Ivan was about to say something, but Wolfe cut him off, replying, "Of course we don't mind," and shooting his brother a look. Ivan sighed with disappointment and watched the two adults walk into the other room.

"So, what is it?" Cassandra asked with curiosity. Bernard smiled. His sister's daughter had been overly curious since she was old enough to toddle around and get into all sorts of trouble. He recalled one incident when she'd went into the new horse's stall after her father had told her it was an unstable, spirited one, and nearly gotten herself trampled. The commotion children managed to stir up sometimes was unbelievable.

"You know Jocelyn Papelion? Ugly Jim's wife?" he asked. Cassandra nodded. "Well, she stopped by the shop yesterday pretty early, while you were still sleeping, and made me a proposition."

"Really? What kind of proposition?" Cassandra inquired.

"She told me she wanted to avenge her husband, and about how Jim used to admire the work of Robin of Locksley. Then she said she wanted to start a conspiracy against the Sheriff, and she thought, after what happened to Martin, you might like to help her lead it. She wants to form the conspiracy in the name of Robin Hood."

At the mention of her husband Cassandra frowned. "Damn right, I would do anything to go against Guy of Gisborne," she hissed. "So help me God if I should ever get the opportunity to murder the man. But do you know how this will encourage Ivan? And how it will hurt Wolfe when he finds out we're supporting Robin Hood? I'd be putting them both in danger just by agreeing to help Jocelyn."

"At any rate, I think you should go and at least hear the woman out, Cass," Bern said with a shrug. Cassandra sighed and then nodded in agreement.

"I'll see her this afternoon, then."


	3. Constant Companion

**Author's Note**In response to the question regarding what type of shop Bernard owns, it is a candle shop. They don't make much of a profit from it, needless to say. Also, I'm sorry it takes me so long to update. Seventh grade is harder than sixth was, and this week I had a thousand tests and essays to make up for, since I was sick the week before.

**Chapter Three – ****Constant Companion**

The candle quivered as his soft breath tickled it. He chuckled quietly, causing the light to dance even more, and then swiped his finger through the flame playfully. The fire reached out to lick his skin like a dog as he drew away, subtly gesturing for him to keep stroking it. Fire was Wolfe's dog, his constant companion. He knew that fire would never turn on you if you treated it right and taught it well.

The enchanted atmosphere that had settled over the room was abruptly shattered by the slamming of a door. Wolfe froze as if caught in the act of a crime, suspecting that his mother or great uncle had entered the room. Usually when Bernard found him playing with fire the old man would skip lecturing and plunge straight into the punishment. When the boy realized that it was not even the door to the bedroom that had been closed, but rather the door that lead out onto the street, he released a breath that he'd been holding, stood, and blew the candle out quickly, before crossing into the front shop to see who had left.

Wolfe entered the room just in time to glimpse the tattered ends of Cassandra's skirt swish past down the road. Curious, and tired of forming candles out of hot wax, he slipped out after her, into the crisp fall air.

Wolfe instinctively kept on the balls of his feet as he followed his mother. After walking a good distance they were beginning to ache, the sharp pain winding up into his legs in addition to his bare soles. However, driven by his curiosity, the boy barely even noticed this little detail.

Wolfe had only been to Ugly Jim's home once or twice, but, possessing a good memory, he could identify it upon first sight. It was a small lodging, nestled in between two larger structures on the side of the street in a town just outside of the marketplace. Wolfe remembered, distinctly, a thin wire clothesline attached on one end to a post in front of the house, and on the other end to another post a few yards away. Of course, Jocelyn had little use for the clothesline, as she and her husband only owned a few pairs of clothes, and never left them out to dry when they were wet. In addition, Jocelyn had a paranoid fear of thieves, and was afraid that it she left her clothes in plain sight, they would be stolen. Wolfe didn't know why he could recall the wire so vividly, but sometimes tiny details like that just became engrained in one's memory for no reason.

The boy had never actually been inside of the house, and he most likely wouldn't today, since he was trying to keep unseen. Cassandra rapped thrice on the door, and then waited, looking down at her feet for a moment. Wolfe cocked his head slightly; his mother never looked at her feet unless she was anxious or worried. What did she have to be anxious about?

A portly woman greeted Cassandra at the door. Well, it wasn't much of a greeting, really, but a curt nod and then a gesture for her to step inside. As she did, Wolfe came out of his hiding behind a wall. A beady-eyed crow spotted him instantly, and gave a raspy caw, shuffling on its tiny feat nearer to him cawing and flapping its wings.

Wolfe held his breath, hoping his mother and Jocelyn wouldn't notice the crow's disturbance. However, they appeared too absorbed in what they were saying to hear him through the window. The boy shuffled closer to the house until he was standing perched on his toes, leaning back against the wall. Most of the women's conversation was audible through the wood, and he pressed his ear against a plank to perceive the sound clearer.

"I take it Bernard told you why you are here, then?" Jocelyn began in a loud whisper.

"Yes," Cassandra replied warily. "But really, Jocelyn, it's very risky. A conspiracy in the name of Robin Hood?"

"I know, dear, but if we don't step up and do something about this now, nothing will change. People like your good husband, and my Jim," her voice wavered a bit, but she collected herself again after a moment, "there will be many more stories like theirs. Lives ended far too soon for no good reason. I couldn't bear that, could you?" Cassandra was about to speak, but Jocelyn continued on, oblivious. "No, I thought not."

"Yes, but how many people will join us. They hate the Sheriff and Gisborne, but they have families to protect."

"I know some good folk that will help, if we ask them. You won't believe the amount of people that are ready to do something rather than wait." She rested a hand on Cassandra's arm and gave her a sympathetic look. "I know you have Wolfe and little Ivan, bless him, to look after, but it will be alright, dear. No one will find out. No, everything will be done secretly, and well managed. You've no need to worry about such things."

"Jocelyn," Cassandra sighed, remaining doubtful, "what do you propose to do in this conspiracy? It will be hard to eliminate the Sheriff and Gisborne without getting caught; there are guards with them at all times."

"We will get rid of the guards that do not compromise with us, and work with the ones that do. Why, I bet there are guards that would help our cause!" She made it sound like the easiest, simplest plan ever brainstormed. Cassandra, however, had sworn to have a practical sense of mind when she'd set off out of the shop, and not allow her emotions and hatred towards Gisborne control her.

"That is not so simple, and you know it," she muttered.

"Oh, I see for the moment you will not be swayed dear. Why don't you think about it though, and let me know your decision tomorrow. I've some work to do now." Quite suddenly, with a warm smile, Jocelyn escorted Cassandra to the door and the single mother stepped out into the sunlight. She waved goodbye to the butcher's wife and then hurried back down the street towards her house, her mind running through the consequences of joining the conspiracy, and running desperately away from the temptation of murdering Gisborne. The satisfaction of revenge would come in good time; it would not be rushed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Wolfe had raced back to the shop as soon as his mother had mentioned "in the name of Robin Hood". He was furious, hurt, and the pain of betrayal was burning at his heart. He swung open the door with force without thinking about who was on the other side.

"Wolfe!" Bernard snapped. "Where have you been all morning?" The man had a good idea of where exactly his great nephew had been, but he didn't mention this.

Wolfe froze like a deer in the headlights, flinching in shock at his great uncle's voice. He detected the suspicion in his words, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, hoping that when he opened them Bernard would be gone, in another room making candles. No such luck.

"I, uh, I had to . . ." he searched his mind for a good excuse. "The truth is, Uncle Bernie," he then began honestly, throwing a hint of shame into the lie for good measure, "This boy came by and started picking on Ivan, and I couldn't let that go, so I chased after him. He got away, but I think I scared him. Ivan's okay, too." Wolfe had discovered at an early age that when getting out of trouble, it was useful to admit to a harmless crime that you did not commit, but that you seemed ashamed of committing. This made you sound sincere, and had proved effective in the past.

Bernard appeared skeptical for a moment, but then the corners of his mouth turned upward in a faint smile, and he patted Wolfe on the back. "Good for you, boy," he praised. "Sticking up for your brother. You run along, now, go make me some more candles to replace the ones you wasted," he grinned sarcastically. When a disappointed reaction registered on Wolfe's face, his smile grew even larger. "You thought I wouldn't notice? You let them out on the table, for all the world to see! Now, run along." The old man shooed the boy into the other room, and then sank back into his chair. If Wolfe had tracked Cassandra, it wouldn't be good for anyone in their family.


End file.
